Read Online How the Duke Was Won by Lenora Bell - Free Book Online

sophisticated beauty. Her bodice was quite reserved by comparison with the others. Quite duchess-­like.
    â€œThe oaks are splendid at our estate in Somerset,” commented Miss Tombs. “They march along as far as the eye can see, cloaked in vermillion and gold.” She stared at the wall, clearly far away from the dining room.
    The ladies moved from oak trees, to pheasant hunting, to the possibility of an unseasonable frost, while James grew ever more uncomfortable.
    The walls seemed to be closing in on him, and the ladies’ mingled floral scents were giving him a headache. How many excruciating dinners had he endured in this room when he’d been old enough to dine with his parents? The old duke had loved to hear himself talk. They’d been expected to endure his rants in silence.
    When James was older, meals became full-­scale wars, James playing the provocateur, the rebel, to anger his father, and William caught in the cross fire.
    â€œI’ve no idea how you could have stayed away from England so long, Your Grace,” the marchioness said. “The society can’t have been as congenial in the West Indies. Was there even a season?”
    â€œI loathe the season.”
    The shock and dismay on their faces was comical.
    They began talking over each other.
    â€œLoathe the season, why, how can that be?”
    â€œWhat could you possibly find objectionable about such a venerable tradition?”
    â€œThe exhibitions, the races, the balls . . .”
    Dalton grinned, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Really, old boy,” he added his voice to the mix. “Never say you don’t like the season . That’s positively unpatriotic.”
    James nodded at the sideboard, and Robert leapt to attention. He had several bottles of aged French claret decanting on the sideboard.
    Once James had a fortifying glass of wine in his hand, he interrupted the still-­dithering ladies. “I detest it because of the preening, the prancing, the fatuous courtship rituals. Men hopping about in peacock-­colored waistcoats. Debutantes displaying themselves for the highest bidder.”
    Lady Dorothea tossed her head. “I see. You’d rather lure prospective mates to your home and audition us like a theatrical chorus. Why not simply hire an auctioneer? Put us on display? Dispense with any pretense of civility?”
    She winced again.
    â€œPrecisely, Lady Dorothea. Why prevaricate?” he answered. “I’m dispensing with the hypocrisy. Everyone knows why young ladies attend balls. This occasion is no different.”
    â€œIt is vastly different,” sputtered Lady Tombs. “My daughter would never be in a theatrical chorus.” She stared around the table challengingly, daring someone to contradict her.
    Dalton chuckled. If James had been able to reach him, he would have kicked him under the table. He wasn’t helping matters.
    â€œTell us about the improvements you’ve made to Warbury Park, Your Grace.” Lady Desmond made an attempt to steer the conversation along safer lines. “I hear you’ve modernized the kitchens?”
    â€œYes, tell us about the kitchens!” enthused dimpled Miss Tombs. “One must be ever so careful these days. I hope your housekeeper supervises the preparation of your breads? Especially the rye? I never eat bread myself, not after reading the fascinating writing of the learned Dr. Thuillier. You see, the grains could be simply riddled with Claviceps purpurea . I have no wish to see my skin peeling off in a slow, loathsome rot. Well, would you?”
    There really was no answer to that.
    He was saved by the arrival of Josefa carrying a gleaming silver tray heaped with the beginning of the second course—­beef prepared with his favorite fragrant brown sauce. She glared at poor Robert, who had rushed to take the tray, and wasn’t satisfied until she had safely placed her masterpiece in front of